The car was not stolen that night. When Charlie awoke the next morning, he immediately rose from his mattress on the floor and pulled aside the thin cotton curtain that covered his window. The car was still there, exactly where he had left it, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

That morning he had arranged for a sign-painter to stencil the name of his taxi firm on the driver’s door. This took barely an hour to do, but consumed almost half of the final week’s pay that Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni had given him. At least he would not have to pay for fuel just yet, as Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni had given him a full tank of petrol as a parting gift. So now he was ready, apart from the licence.

Charlie stood outside the sign-painter’s shop and admired the newly painted legend on the side of the car.

The sign-painter, a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth, contemplated his handiwork. “Why are you calling it the No. 1 Ladies’ Taxi Service?” he asked. “Are you getting a lady driver?”

Charlie explained the nature of the service to the painter, an explanation which was followed by a brief silence. Then the painter said, “There are some very good business ideas, Rra. In my job, I see many businesses starting. But I hardly ever see one which is as good an idea as this.”

“Do you mean that?” asked Charlie.

“Of course. This is going to be a big success, I can tell you, Rra. A big success. You are going to be very rich. Next month, maybe the month after that, you will be starting to get rich. You’ll see. You come back and tell me if I’m wrong.”

Charlie drove away with the sign-painter’s prediction ringing in his ears. Of course the thought of being rich appealed to him; apart from that brief spell when he had been taken up by that wealthy, married, and older woman, he had known only poverty so far, had owned only a single pair of shoes, had made do with turned collars on his shirts. If he had the money, he could dress in a way which he knew would attract the girls; not that he had ever had any difficulty in doing that, but in a way which would attract a fancier sort of girl. That was what interested him.

He had intended to drive straight home in order to conserve fuel, but then, as he rounded a corner, a woman stepped out from a driveway and waved him down. For a moment he was puzzled, and then he remembered. I am a taxi driver! I get waved down.